


House of Cards

by Rokesmith



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-09
Updated: 2010-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokesmith/pseuds/Rokesmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weiss gamble with their lives in Tokyo's newest casino. But can even they survive in a place where the house always wins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard Eight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz, it's characters, indices etcetera belong to Takehito Koyasu, Kyoko Tsuchiya and Project Weiss. This fanfic was written for fun rather than profit and any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Except for the bit where Aya is clearly what Takehito Koyasu wishes he could be. And why would you want to be him? I wanna be Youji.
> 
> Author's Note: This is my first Weiss fic, written as a result of a lot of encouragement from my girlfriend, who goes by quietladybirman, and who I owe for getting me involved in this fandom. I also feel some acknowledgement should be given to Ian Fleming, whose writing inspired the plot. A note on currency is that 100,000 Japanese yen is approximately equal to 1,000 US dollars and 1,000,000 yen is worth about 10,000. The story takes place in between episodes 2 and 3 of Kapital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** Weiss Kreuz, it's characters, indices etcetera belong to Takehito Koyasu, Kyoko Tsuchiya and Project Weiss. This fanfic was written for fun rather than profit and any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Except for the bit where Aya is clearly what Takehito Koyasu wishes he could be. And why would you want to be him? I wanna be Youji.
> 
> **Author's Note:** This is my first Weiss fic, written as a result of a lot of encouragement from my girlfriend, who goes by quietladybirman, and who I owe for getting me involved in this fandom. I also feel some acknowledgement should be given to Ian Fleming, whose writing inspired the plot. A note on currency is that 100,000 Japanese yen is approximately equal to 1,000 US dollars and 1,000,000 yen is worth about 10,000. The story takes place in between episodes 2 and 3 of _Kapital_.
> 
> * * *

There is nothing in the world like the sound of a casino at nine on a Saturday night. Youji Kudou stood surrounded by the sound of a manmade waterfall, the roar of conversations, the grinding crash of the slot machines, the cries of joy and despair. He stood in the heart of this, beside one of the casino's three bars, where a group of businessmen stood watching the flow of winning and losing.

He pulled over a smartly dressed young waiter with the name 'Rei' printed on his nametag. "Vodka martini." He said loudly, "Shaken not stirred."

Ken Hidaka stared back at him, his mouth open, obviously fighting the urge to say a lot more than just, "Yes, sir."

While he was waiting for the drink, he gave his dark green coat, striped purple shirt and dark brown smart trousers one more check before using the reflection in the side of a fruit machine to make sure his sunglasses were keeping his hair back. His inspection complete, he paid Ken, and drank the clear drink in one go, his expression empty.

"Excellent." He grinned, "My compliments to the barman." He leaned in to give Ken a visibly extravagant tip and hissed, "Next time, no matter what I say, make it with gin and stir it."

"Thank you very much... sir." Ken said carefully as he vanished.

Youji smiled, keeping an eye on the businessmen in the slot machine reflection, and then strolled away through the thunder of money changing hands. He met the eyes of every waitress he passed on the way across the floor, adding their names to the roll-call in the back of his mind and remembering which ones looked back and which ones looked away. It kept his mind occupied as he passed between the rows and rows of slot machines before emerging into an area of the casino where winning took a little more skill than the ability to insert money and pull a lever.

He couldn't think of a card game that had as many different names as blackjack. Twenty-one, Vignt-et-un, pontoon and several others; whatever the name, the objective was simple: starting with two cards try to get a total that's as close to adding up to twenty-one as you can. If you go over, you bust and you lose. If the dealer ends with a higher total than you, you lose. But if the dealer busts or you have a higher score than them, you double your money. In principle, it was one of the simplest games in the world, but there was a lot more to it than just hoping you got dealt the right card.

But his thoughts about the game were quickly wiped away and he had to work on keeping a straight face as he arrived at the blackjack table. It was still a sight that threatened to make him laugh if he let it. Omi Tsukiyono. In a dress.

* * *

The problem had been one of several that had come up during the mission preparation. Omi was not old enough to come into the casino to gamble, and even though Kritiker could have obtained him a suitable ID saying he was, being constantly asked to prove his age would have attracted far more attention than Weiss wanted that night. It was Omi himself who had proposed the solution, and since none of the others had been able to think of a better idea, while Youji dressed and attempted to force styling clay into Ken's hair to make him look slightly less like he had only a passing acquaintance with hairbrushes, they had watched out of the corner of their eyes as Birman helped Omi dress. The result was amazing. Birman had even managed to find a wig that looked like dyed blonde hair showing darker roots and, between the simulated body shape beneath the dress, the makeup and Omi's naturally large eyes, he did a very good impression of a woman of, as Youji had phrased it, purchasable affection.

Now they could all get into the casino, there was another problem. Since Ken was taking drinks orders and Youji and Omi were at the tables, that left Aya watching the exterior. No problem in itself, but the casino had been equipped with the latest electronic monitoring equipment and was sure to pick up their radio signals. So that meant if Aya did need to communicate, he would need to come into the casino and drop off a message at a prearranged point that Ken could then relay to the others. No one liked this, there were too many things that could potentially go wrong, but there was no alternative.

Lastly, there had been the argument between Aya and Youji half an hour before they were all due to set off. It had concerned transport.

"I can't take the Seven," Youji explained. "It's too interesting and unique. I need to use your Porsche. For this to work, I need to convince them that I'm arrogant, overconfident, egotistical and have no imagination, and driving your car will do that perfectly."

"And what, Kudou," Aya said coldly, "will I be driving?"

The expression on Aya's face when Youji had shown him the borrowed Nissan Cube was something that Youji hoped he would never forget.

* * *

Recalling himself to the present, Youji looked over Omi's shoulder and was pleased to see that Omi had won more than he had lost, though his cautious playing had kept the total around the same. Youji put his hand on Omi's shoulder and kept his eyes on the fall of the cards. In the half hour since Omi had started playing, the dealer had progressed half way through the mixture of six packs of cards in the shoe. He lit a cigarette, and spent the next five hands smoking it, trying to keep track of the fall of the cards.

Then Omi reached up and gave his hand a squeeze. "What is it, Kiyomi?" He asked.

"I'm bored of this." Omi pouted in a good impression of any of the girls from the shop, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose my money if I bet. Why can't you just play?"

Youji smiled. "Sure. Take your chips and watch me. I'll show you how it's done."

He sat down in the vacant chair and nodded to the dealer. He felt his heart beat faster but refused to let it show on his face. Like every other member of Weiss, he knew that the best way to victory was to rig the game, and that is what they had just done. This was where the mission really started. Youji was playing to win.

* * *

They all knew about the Imperial Casino. For months the papers had been full of reports about it, how it was the first true American-style casino ever to be built in Japan, how it was going to bring jobs, money and tourism to the some of the rundown areas of Tokyo. Ken had once told Youji that one of the things the nuns had taught him – and they had, apparently, been legion – was that money was the root of all evil, so perhaps he was not as surprised as he might have been when the casino had appeared on a briefing tape.

The Imperial Casino had been open for three months, and in that time there had been more than twenty missing persons cases associated with it. No evidence of a connection had been proved, but each of the twenty people had won large amounts of money at the casino the night they disappeared. Kritiker believed that one or more of the eight casino owners were responsible, and Weiss' mission was to discover which of the syndicate members were ordering the killings.

Kritiker believed that the crimes almost certainly involved the Japanese members of the syndicate, but to take no chances, the mission was to take place on a night where all eight were meeting at the casino. Of the other five owners, two were American, one was Russian, one Indian and one Chinese. Since the casino was open that night, and full of security personnel and innocent potential witnesses, the only plan that seemed workable was to win a large amount of money in the hope of drawing out the targets.

The three Japanese syndics had appeared on the screen separately. Masaru Amane, who was reported to be an enthusiastic gambler; Takuya Mori, who had the political connections which had made building the casino possible and – Youji had stared carefully over his sunglasses at this point – Michiko Kuroda, the only daughter of a former aristocrat whose fortune had been in land. The pictures were those that had appeared in the press, they gave no clue to which, if any, might be a killer.

Winning the money, Youji had insisted, would be easy. There was a lot more to gambling than simple luck. If Amane was as keen a gambler as Kritiker believed, Youji would simply find a way to challenge him to a high-stakes poker game and win enough to draw attention to himself. After a short negotiation, Manx had agreed to pay out one hundred thousand yen to fund the game, but the rest, Youji would have to obtain himself. Youji, who had been expecting as much, had simply smiled and told her that with Omi's help he could easily make up the rest.

"Card counting, Youji-kun?" Omi had asked.

"It'll be easy for you." Youji had told him confidently, "There are six decks of cards in a shoe, all you have to do is keep track of which cards have been dealt. You can use that to work out when it's most likely that lots of high cards are about to be dealt so it's more likely that you can get a high score and a winning hand. We've got a week, I can teach you. It'll be just like maths homework."

* * *

This was Omi's final exam. Youji had seen how quickly the boy had learned, but he knew well enough that anything could happen on a mission. In theory there were a greater percentage of high cards in the remaining deck, so Youji had a greater chance of beating the dealer. To make it seem less suspicious, Omi would not be the one reaping the benefits of his counting, and Youji knew there was more to winning at blackjack than a good memory and mental arithmetic. It was up to him now. He started with a bet of twenty thousand yen.

Eighteen. A good start. The dealer flipped over his second card to reveal a score of fifteen and hit. He hit a seven and busted. A very good start.

The second hand he bet all forty thousand yen and he was dealt a twenty. He smiled across at the dealer. The dealer kept his face absolutely level as he flipped over his card and Youji found himself staring at an ace and a ten. He had to force himself not to shake, force his expression to remain empty as he felt Omi place a hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly, and watched his forty thousand yen raked away towards the dealer.

But Youji knew he had to keep going. Behind his sunglasses he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. Beyond that, he gave no sign of his sudden doubt, sudden fear, and in an instant he had forced it all away and pushed another forty thousand yen forward.

Eleven, which a hit brought up to twenty. The dealer drew nineteen.

Over the next half an hour, Youji won a lot of money, even if he said so himself. Thanks to Omi, the odds were more than in his favour, so he won and went on winning. As he played, every now and then he would feel Omi's grip on his shoulder as the patterns of probability that only the boy genius could see lined up in the dealer's favour.

At the end of that half hour, Youji had half a million yen sitting on the table in front of him when he felt his shoulder nudged by a passing waiter. Glancing to his left beneath his glasses he saw a group of men in suits moving slowly but inevitably towards his table.

That meant there was only time for one more hand.


	2. Unlucky Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** The toast that Youji raises in this chapter is to Daikoku, one of the seven Japanese gods of luck, this one particularly associated with wealth.

Youji had known this was inevitable, he had just wanted more time before it did. He had been winning too much and the casino would politely close the table before it lost any more.

There was no time left to be cautious. He pushed all five hundred and eight thousand yen forward. Omi's grip on his shoulder tightened once more, but they both knew he could do nothing more. One last glance left showed Youji that the men in suits had been delayed by another man in an even smarter, darker suit than them. At least that gave him time to play the hand.

Four and a nine. Thirteen. And the one card the dealer had face up was a three. He could have a count of anywhere between five and fourteen, but there was no way to know yet. It was all down to luck.

Except that Youji Kudou didn't believe in luck. He believed in chance, in seemingly random events that could not be predicted, but which had certain probabilities. He believed that nothing was lucky or unlucky of itself, not even a hand of four and nine. And he believed that for any man to live, really live, he had to gamble, to throw knowledge of numbers and probabilities to the winds and just act.

"Stand," he said.

The dealer flipped over his card. A ten. Thirteen. A match that left nothing but Youji's trust in Omi.

The dealer slid a card for himself out of the shoe. In the seconds that followed, Youji could feel Omi's mind working out the odds, but he knew them already. All things being equal, a fifty-four percent chance of the dealer winning and a thirty-eight percent chance of busting. But all things were not equal.

The dealer turned the card. Jack.

"Dealer bust."

The men in suits appeared. Youji pushed back his sunglasses and smiled at them. He nodded when they said the table had to be closed. He stood and let the men watch as he picked up plastic representing more than a million yen and slipping it into his coat pockets. Then he tipped the dealer, smiled at the guards, took Omi's arm, and walked away.

* * *

"Waiter! Waiter!" Youji shouted as they reached the bar, "Two glasses of your best Champagne."

Ken hurried over, scowling. "How much?" he hissed.

"A million."

Ken's eyes widened. "Christ, Youji!"

Youji grinned. "Don't tell me you doubted me."

"Well... yeah," Ken said, then glanced sideways, "Right away, sir."

It was a few minutes before Ken returned with the two glasses. "He's over there," he muttered.

Youji did not even need to glance to know that Masaru Amane was still standing halfway around the semicircular bar with a group of his fellow gamblers. He also did not have to look to know that the group was half way through a bottle of specially imported American whisky.

"Has he been watching?"

Ken gave him one more nod, and then took the money for the drinks and walked away.

"To Daikoku," Youji announced, raising has glass in a western toast and clinking it against Omi's.

"A good toast to drink."

It was Amane's voice, it had to be. Youji smiled and turned.

"Indeed, Amane-san." He bowed. "A man must always give thanks for what he gains."

Amane returned the bow. "You know me, sir?"

"Who does not know of Amane-san?" Youji said, "One of the owners of this temple to Daikoku who has gambled with some of the richest men from all over the world, and beaten them. I am honoured to meet you."

"You flatter me, sir." Amane replied, "Most men flatter me. Who are you and what is your reason?"

"My name is Tanaka. Saburo Tanaka. This is my... friend, Kiyomi. I only flatter you because I would like the honour of a game."

Amane laughed; he was a big man and his laugher rumbled across the bar. "You are a gambler, Mister Tanaka. I respect that. But I play with high stakes, are you sure you can match them?"

Youji didn't speak. He didn't have to. He just took the plates of plastic out of his pocket one by one, each representing a hundred thousand yen, and laid them on the bar where Amane and his whole group could see them.

"I would be honoured if you would join us." Amane bowed.

During their research of the three syndics, one of the first things Omi had found out about Amane was that every weekend he was present at the casino he arranged a high-stakes game of poker. For this, he had his own special room reserved at the far end of the casino, cut off by curtains and more tastefully decorated than the multicoloured casino floor. Any number of tables could be moved in at a moment's notice, but tonight Youji found himself sitting with Amane and four others about to begin a game of Texas Hold 'Em poker.

"Can you win, Youji-kun?" Omi had asked on the way to the game.

"Don't worry," Youji reassured him, "It's not about maths anymore, Omi. In blackjack you play the odds, but in poker... you play the man."

There was a lot of money at risk tonight, Youji could tell that just by looking at the men around the table. All of them were successful businessmen, and all of them were wearing suits worth at least ten times as much as his. They didn't know it, but Youji had been watching them since he had arrived at the casino; he had watched them drink, he had watched them talk to each other, and now he watched them prepare to win or lose.

He did not have long, but it was long enough. The game that began looked more complicated than it was. Each player was dealt two cards face down and could either bet or fold. To keep things interesting, two of them, the blinds, had to bet. Then three cards were drawn face up – the flop – and there was more betting. Then another card – the turn – and more betting followed by a final card – the river – before a final round of betting. Players could fold at any point, and usually there were only two left at the end, and if neither folded, the face down cards were shown and the player who could make the highest five card hand from his two and the community five would win.

Youji was dealt a four and a two in the first hand and immediately folded. He used the hand to watch the other players around the table, but particularly Amane. The big man sat as still and silent as a statue, hardly moving beyond a glance at his cards and to calmly add chips to the pile. Even though he talked cheerfully to his fellow gamblers, Youji could feel the man watching him. Amane knew these other men but Youji was the unknown element, and he knew it.

It took five hands for the game to begin in earnest. The bets abruptly rose, and with them, Youji began betting every hand that even had a chance of winning. Against the two more considered players he won more by confidence than anything else, and against the pair who used a similar method he occasionally broke off before his losses became too large, but could often win simply by recognising the attempt to bluff. He won enthusiastically and showed an instant of visible irritation every time he lost, but slowly his stack grew and grew.

The impulsive player to his left was the first to fall. He went all in, betting his whole stack against Amane, who he must have been convinced was bluffing, only to watch in horror as the big man turned over his cards to make three sixes and beat his opponent's two queens. The second was one of the calculators, retiring after throwing in a pair of fours and surrendering half his stack only to find that Youji held nothing that could have beaten them. The fourth man left half an hour later; he had been steadily losing money all evening and decided to cut his losses.

Youji looked at his borrowed watch. It was nearly one in the morning.

"Can I get a drink please?" he asked.

Now it was just between him, Amane, and a fresh deck of cards. It was time to change the game.

* * *

Ken had spent most of the last three hours, as much as his duties allowed, marking the entrance to the private room. Every now and then one of the two men standing beside the curtains would gesture to him and he would come in and take a drinks order, but try and get someone else to deliver it. So far, no one had noticed they'd been asking for drinks from the same waiter each time.

He pretended to be quickly walking somewhere else when the man reached out and pulled him into the poker room. Ken hadn't liked Youji's plan, it had relied too much on dumb luck for his liking, but it seemed to be working. Ken didn't have time to count how much money Youji had in front of him, but he knew enough to know that it was a lot.

"What can I get you, sir?" He asked.

"Calpis water." Youji replied.

Ken looked over at the other man. "Amane-san?"

"Nothing," Amane said.

He sounded uncertain, and Ken was not sure why. Then he looked back at Youji, and saw that the man's whole posture had changed. Every other time Ken had come in, he had been leaning over the table, staring at his pile of chips. Now he was sitting back, with his hands behind his head, just like he did on the couch in the basement. Ken hadn't understood most of what Youji had told him about poker players reading body language, but he realised that for Amane, this must be like coming back on in the second half to find that the other team had substituted a striker and were now playing four men forward instead of three.

Trying to remember what he would have done in that situation – with the strikers not the body language – Ken wasn't really concentrating as he walked back across the casino floor towards the bar. Even so, he had enough awareness to navigate through the maze of brightly coloured slot machines without bumping into anyone.

He'd almost reached the bar and was just thinking through what he'd be shouting at the defenders when he saw the flash of white in front of him. On instinct he sprang backwards around a corner, pressing his back against the cold metal surface of a fruit machine. He'd reacted before he'd been sure, but half a glance around the corner told him he hadn't imagined it. It took a lot to force himself not to swear loudly, but even so a hissed curse did escape.

"_Fuck..._"

Not here. Not tonight. Not them.


	3. Tortured Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** In contrast to Youji's toast to luck in the last chapter, Ken's prayer here is to Saint Jude, commonly known as the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. I imagine Ken prays to him often.

Reiji Takatori, the man everyone thought would be the next Prime Minister of Japan, was standing beside the bar, dwarfing the small figure of Takuya Mori as the two men talked politely. And just behind him stood two tall men in white suits, one stern and dark haired, the other one grinning, with orange hair so garish it perfectly matched the terrible clashing colours of the casino floor. Crawford and Schuldig. Ken thanked God that the other half of the bodyguards who called themselves Schwarz weren't there too as he took a very roundabout route back to the bar to collect Youji's Calpis water.

He was confident enough that, dressed as a waiter, Takatori could look straight at him and not be aware that Ken existed unless he happened to be thirsty. He was less certain about the two bodyguards, but hoped that as an ordinary looking Japanese man in a crowd of Japanese people they would not be able to pick him out. Even so, as he collected the glass of Calpis water and headed back to the private room he uttered a silent prayer to Saint Jude that they had not seen him and that Schuldig would not be able to use his telepathy with this many people around.

He was also grateful, for the first time that night, that the radios didn't work. The mission was already dangerous enough without Aya charging in and trying to brutally murder a famous politician in front of thousands of witnesses.

If any of them did see him, they gave no sign. Safely surrounded by the forest of fruit machines, Ken risked a last glance back. He was just in time to see Mori bow to Takatori, a bow that was returned, and then the three men walked off towards the exit. Ken kept watching, just in case, and noticed that halfway to the doors, they were intercepted by a man in a dark suit, who bowed to Takatori, spoke a few words, and then led him off in a different direction.

Ken shrugged and hurried back towards the poker room, hoping that Youji hadn't managed to lose all the money while he'd been gone.

* * *

Youji wondered how long he was going to have to keep this up. Amane had been shaken when Youji had dropped his act, but Youji had not been able to take advantage of it. Since he had ordered his drink, he had not had anything like a good hand. Whether Amane had or not, he couldn't tell, but he suspected the older man was also being dealt very uninteresting hands. One way or the other, even though the bets were very high now, neither of them was really making any money.

Then he found himself looking at two jacks. He bet cautiously, hoping to draw Amane into thinking he had a good hand, but not that good. Amane raised, also cautiously. The flop unfolded, and then another, larger bet each. Then the turn card was a jack.

"Fold." Amane said, and flicked forward his cards, a jack and a five.

Youji threw forward his cards, and when Amane's expression did not change when he saw the two jacks, he wondered how he had known. He pulled a quarter of a million yen in chips across the table, but still felt like he'd lost somehow.

He felt Ken appear at his shoulder. Youji knew the boy had many talents; he was an unrivalled close-range fighter and had a wonderful ability to see what was right in front of him, but Youji had always thought that his greatest strength was that he looked like everyone else. He could have been anyone, anywhere. He had come into the room at least five times over the evening, yet he was sure no one else in the room except Omi was aware of this. He passed handed Youji his drink and disappeared again, his presence barely registering.

While the deck was shuffled again, Youji sipped his drink. Then he noticed a faint shadow on the napkin. Carefully unfolding it beneath the level of the table, his eyes widened beneath the sunglasses as he read the untidy _kanji_ letters.

_Takatori's here!_

"Excuse me for a moment." He rose and bowed to Amane.

Youji rose from the table and headed to the nearest toilets. He nodded politely to the elderly gentleman washing his hands and then was alone, or so it seemed. A moment passed and then one of the stalls unlocked and Ken stumbled out.

"Takatori was here!" he exclaimed. "Fucking Takatori!"

"Be quiet," Youji said calmly, "Is he still here, Kenken?"

"God, I hope not!" Ken looked around as if he expected to see Takatori unzipping himself right behind them. "He left. Him, fucking Crawford and _fucking telepathic Schuldig_ were here talking to Mori. They just had a drink and then got walked out by some guy in a dark suit, I've got no idea who he was."

Youji reached forward and put his hands on Ken's shoulders. "If he's gone, Kenken, he's gone. We just have to hope that Aya didn't see him on the way out, but if he did, I suppose we'll all know when it's on the news tomorrow."

"Or when we hear the sirens," Ken muttered. "Don't joke, Youji. You weren't there last time he saw the guy."

"Just keep doing what you've been doing for the next hour. If you can, tell Omi what you saw. I think he'll agree that Mori working with Takatori doesn't make him look very innocent. Now, I've got to go back there and win a lot of money."

"How the Hell am I supposed to talk to Omi without anyone noticing?" Ken demanded.

Youji grinned. "Flirt with her," he called over his shoulder.

The closing toilet door cut off Ken's furious response. Youji adjusted his shirt and walked back to the table. He gave Omi a smile and Amane another bow before sitting down and drinking some of his Calpis water.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" The dealer asked.

Both men nodded, and both received their cards. Youji looked at his cards, and then looked up as Amane calmly bet a hundred thousand yen. Youji looked across at him, pushed down his sunglasses and raised to three hundred thousand. Amane matched the bet, and the three cards of the flop slid onto the table. A six of hearts, a two of clubs, and a queen of spades. Amane checked again and Youji raised to five hundred thousand.

Amane's eyes were unreadable, like the eyes of a statue. "One million yen."

"Call." Youji said.

The turn card was the three of spades. Youji felt he could see where this was going. He watched as Amane emotionlessly raised the bet to two million, and then matched it with an equal lack of emotion.

Finally, the river card, and Youji was right. The five of clubs. A two, a three, a five and a six. A winning straight, if either man held a four. A one in thirteen chance.

"Three million." Amane said.

Youji met his eyes. "All in. Four million."

"Call."

The room held its breath, waiting for Youji to raise the bet, but he did not. He waited, and Amane waited, and the room waited. Waited for that single word from the lips of the dealer.

"Showdown."

Masaru Amane turned over his cards, one at a time. The first was an eight. And the second was a four.

The room let its breath out, everyone in the room relaxing with a collective sigh. All but two. Amane was still watching Youji, who held his eyes without a trace of reaction.

Then Youji Kudou turned over his cards.

A four. And a nine.

No one in the room spoke, the sudden reversal of fortune had shocked everyone into silence. The dealer blinked as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

"Both gentlemen have a straight, two to six. Tanaka-san holds the high card. Tanaka-san wins the pot, eight million yen."

Amane stood. Youji stood too. A long moment passed, and then Amane reached over and pushed the pile of chips towards Youji.

"Thank you, Tanaka-san."

"I was honoured, Amane-san," Youji replied.

Youji gathered up his money and pushed it into his pockets. He and Amane exchanged bows and then he took Omi's arm once more and walked away. Within ten minutes, he had turned the weight of all that plastic into a cheque for eight million yen in his inside pocket, minus the hundred thousand he had given to Omi to pay back Kritiker. It was strange, he thought as he and Omi walked towards the casino exit, how something that weighed so little could be worth so much.

"What now, Youji-kun?" Omi whispered.

"They come to us," Youji replied. "Soon."

Youji didn't believe in luck, but he did believe in instinct. An instinct for people and for situations that he had begun developing and honing back when he used it for nothing more than picking which girl in a bar was out looking for nothing more than a tumble between the sheets. Now his life depended on that instinct, and right now it was telling him that the trap he had calmly and cheerfully walked into was about to be sprung.

He handed his ticket to the valet, who looked at it for a few seconds and then said politely. "Tanaka-san, a small problem has developed with your car. If you would come with me, we can resolve the situation."

"Certainly." Youji smiled.

Five minutes later, he was staring down the barrel of a pistol.


	4. Lucky Seven

Youji Kudou looked down the barrel of the largest gun he had ever seen this side of a TV screen. It was bad enough from the side, but from the front it felt like he should be expecting to be hit in the face by the Bullet Train.

"This isn't the movies," he said calmly. "Those things are illegal."

This was the trouble with being bait. It had started well: Youji and Omi had followed the valet through the underground car park. Omi had been happily leaning against Youji, walking uncertainly, and only part of that was due to the fact that Youji could see that the strain of walking in heels was starting to tell. The valet gestured to a side door, which Youji calmly strolled through. He had not even finished closing it behind him when he heard a very loud click as a man stepped out of the shadows and pointed a .44 Magnum at him.

"Give me the cheque, Tanaka-san," the man in the dark suit with the gun said.

"Cheque?" Youji asked, "What cheque? I just came here to get my car."

"The cheque for the eight million yen you just won." The man replied, "Hand it over and no one will be hurt."

Youji blinked. "Oh, that cheque. How about this? I will pay you eight million yen for a single conversation with your employer. I have an offer that might interest her."

The man considered this for a few minutes. "Alright. Just you."

"Best to leave Kiyomi out of this." Youji smiled. "She won't say anything."

"No," the man in the suit said. "She won't."

The Magnum roared. Omi was thrown backwards, turning on the spot with the force of impact and thudding against the cold concrete. Youji started forward, past the hot barrel of the pistol, ignoring the two other men that emerged from the shadows. He bent down over the crumpled body, running his fingers gently across the skin, from the base of the neck, across the cheek to the closed eyes.

"You bastard," he hissed, "You didn't have to do that."

"Come this way." The man gestured with the gun.

"Alright." Youji straightened up, "Just put that thing away before someone sees you with it and we get in trouble. What do I call you, anyway?"

"My name's Haruki, but here they call me Dirty Harry."

Youji smiled. "It suits you."

* * *

He was led into an office connected to a private section of the car park. It was an office he had the impression was not marked on the official blueprints, a small room containing a small desk and several chairs. The only other feature of the office was a pair of small televisions, one showing a picture of the two guards waiting outside the car park exit and another one showing the empty corridor leading to the casino.

He sat down in the chair and lit a cigarette. "May I offer you one, Kuroda-san?"

He smelt her perfume, a soft, fruity scent, and her high heels made no sound on the soft floor. Michiko Kuroda was a tall woman, made taller by her heels until she was almost as tall as Aya, dressed in a conservative business suit. The way she moved spoke of a predatory nature, an aggressive woman who knew exactly what she wanted and always got it. In bed, Youji thought, she would be a real handful.

"Thank you, Tanaka-san." She took the cigarette and lit it with her own expensive lighter. "Harry says you have an offer for me. Tell me how you knew it was me to whom you would be making this offer."

"By eliminating all other options," Youji told her. "Successful gamblers at this casino have a bad habit of disappearing. That's not good for business. People come to casinos because they think they can win and make money for nothing. That's why this is an American-style casino, because that's the American dream: money for nothing and kicks for free. If many more people go missing, people are going to stop coming here so often and the share prices go down. It can't be the five foreign syndics, they've got money invested in casinos all over the world, this place is small change to them. Of the Japanese investors, you're the only one who would really benefit from the prices falling. Not to mention that the other two earned their money, you just inherited yours and now you want the respect you haven't got so far. Amane has plenty of his own money, and you can learn a lot about a man by beating him at cards. He's in it for the thrill, not the cash. And Mori doesn't need the money when he has the political connections, which he isn't going to keep if they find out he's been killing people on the side. But it was Dirty Harry here who walked Reiji Takatori out of the casino this evening, after he slowed down the people coming to close my table so I could win some more. He'll be Prime Minister soon, and if you could get him on your side that'll be worth his weight in gold. And a casino is a handy place to launder money, which is what I'd say he was doing here tonight.

"So the income falls, and you offer to buy out Amane and Mori, and end up with sole ownership of the Japanese portion of the property. Then all you have to do is restore confidence, with a bit of help from everyone's favourite politician, and sit back and watch the money roll in. Having a little extra put aside courtesy of the people you kill can't hurt either." He turned his head. "Dry cleaning bills and so on. It must cost a fortune to get all that blood out of those expensive suits, mustn't it, Harry?"

Kuroda smiled. "You should be a detective, Tanaka-san."

"I hear the pay's terrible." Youji shrugged. "But there is one thing I can't work out."

"What's that?"

"Do you think you're really Takatori's type? I'd have thought he'd want to be on top."

The woman flinched, and her eyes narrowed. "What is your offer?"

"I gamble," Youji told her. "I gamble and I win. I won a lot tonight. I gamble here and take the casino's money and we split the winnings."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Dirty Harry reached for his gun, and then his eyes caught something above and behind her. Youji looked up and Kuroda turned to see the monitor screen, where one of the guards at the car park exit had just slumped against the wall. The other one charged out of the frame, and then they heard a horrible scream.

Kuroda leapt to her feet and pressed a button on her desk. "Security!"

Youji's eyes went to the other screen as two men ran down the corridor, but before they were half way to the door, Ken stepped out of a junction and put his entire bodyweight behind slamming a loaded drinks tray into the leading guard's face. Glass and liquid sprayed everywhere and the other guard barely had time to react before Ken was hitting him too.

Youji didn't see any more. There was a crash as something hit the locked car park door hard, splintering the wood. Youji used the distraction to reach into his trouser pocket and throw himself sideways out of the chair. He hit the floor hard, kicking out with his legs and knocking Harry off balance as he was about to fire his Magnum into the shattering door. In the other hand he held his digital watch, and with a flick of wrist the razor wire flashed out and wrapped around one of Kuroda's expensive heels. Youji gave the wire a firm jerk and the woman stumbled off balance and fell heavily against the table.

Then the door exploded open. Aya was the first one through, his bloodstained katana raised above his head, swinging for Harry, who hurled himself backwards. Omi was next, moving awkwardly, his arm pressed against his right side.

Kuroda straightened up, and there was an instant as she faced Omi that she was frozen in confusion. Omi was still wearing the dress, but now his wig was gone he was quite obviously a boy. Then she snapped out of it, moving desperately towards the door, but Youji rose from the floor, blocking her path.

She stared at him, opened her mouth to say something, to argue or to beg or to attack, but Youji never had to hear it. She twitched, her eyes widened, and she fell forward into Youji's arms. Even throwing left-handed Youji could tell that Omi's aim had been perfect; the tipped dart had struck her at the top of her spine, just below the line of her short hair.

Youji felt the life pass from the woman in his arms, but had to let her drop, distracted by the roar of rage from his left. Dirty Harry had dodged several blows from Aya's sword and now the enraged assassin put all of his weight behind a blow that would have cut the other man in half if it had landed. Except that Harry somehow managed to get out of the way, raising his gun as he did so and bringing it down on Aya's head as hard as he could. He dropped the gun in the process, but Aya went limp, and Harry caught hold of him and sent him tumbling into the opening door, wedging Ken in the small gap.

Youji jumped forward to move Aya and get Ken into the room, and in that instant, while Omi was still awkwardly reaching for another dart hidden on his bad side, Dirty Harry bolted through the car park door. Youji heaved Aya to his feet and headed after him, but Harry moved amazingly quickly, his feet pounding against the concrete as he ran. By the time Youji reached the door he was already far out of the range of his wire, and when Omi appeared a second later, Youji realised that in his current condition he would not be able to throw a dart far enough.

The sound of the gunshot filled the confined space of the car park, echoing off the walls in an endless roar like the sound of the sea in a storm. Harry was thrown forward, the top of his back torn to shreds and slamming against the concrete on his face, dead before he struck the ground. Youji spun around to see Ken standing by the door, lowering the enormous Magnum.

"What's wrong with a fucking Smith and Wesson?" Ken demanded, then turned to Aya, who was holding his injured head, "And why the hell did we even bring you?"

Ken checked the gun was safe and then dropped it onto the floor. Youji ignored it, focusing on Omi, who, now the fight was over, was showing the strain. He pushed aside the boy's dress on his right side. Omi's faint imitation of a female figure had been supplied courtesy of some very carefully modelled body armour. It had also saved his life, taking the brunt of the impact from the bullet. The gunshot hadn't killed him, but it had, Youji saw, left a pattern of vicious bruises on his right side and probably cracked a few ribs.

"So," he said cheerfully, "what are we going to tell Saint Luke's this time?"

"Bad tackle." Ken offered, then gestured at Aya, "Stupid goalie. Cracked his head on the post."

"In the middle of the night, Ken-kun?" Omi asked.

Youji shrugged. "We'll say we were drunk."

They would have to come and get the Cube in the morning, Aya couldn't drive with what might be a concussion. After they had cleaned up and called Kritiker, Youji helped Aya back to the Porsche while Ken helped Omi.

"How did you know where I was?" Youji asked as he started the car.

"I know the plans, Youji-kun," Omi answered. "Where else would you be?"

"Are you sure we got everyone?" Ken demanded. "It was just her? I don't want to come back here next week and do this all again."

"Actually, now you mention it, there is one more thing I have to do." Youji said.

He stopped the car at a red light, took the cheque for eight million yen out of his pocket and calmly tore it into pieces.

"They would never have let me keep it anyway," he said to his three astonished friends.

He could never have spent it, he knew. A hundred million yen earned this way would have been just as worthless. Youji Kudou lived every day on blood money, but he had to draw a line somewhere, or he was lost. So he threw the worthless fragments of paper out of the window, and drove away into the night.


End file.
